What Dreams May Come
by buttmagoo
Summary: Under the influence of a wish granting curse, Leonardo and Michelangelo act out private and previously unknown infatuations on Raphael. Donatello eventually steps in and tries to fix it. ***COMPLETE*** WARNINGS: ***NON-CON***, Leo/Raph, Mikey/Raph, mentions of Leo/Mikey/Raph/Donnie
1. Chapter 1

Mikey's hand is cold and he doesn't think the ice pack is actually helping any, but Donnie told him to hold it against his jaw, so he is, even though it's boring and means he can't do much more than sit or lay down or sit up again and there's not even anything good to watch on TV, just soap operas and baby shows.

He looks up at Raphie's approaching foot steps, slapping uncharacteristically flat against the ground. He's not happy.

Raph pauses ahead of him, bowing stiffly at the waist.

"I'm sorry for hitting you, Mikey."

"It's okay!" Mikey says, dropping the ice pack and smile growing. Raph's eyes widen to circles, knowing what's coming and Mikey giggles wildly, pouncing on his brother.

"No – _stop it!_ Sensei!" he cries, falling back and away to get out of Mikey's reach but Mikey is quick. Soon he has his arms around his brother's squirming middle, nuzzling. Raph suddenly stops fighting, letting out a frustrated wail, sensei's reprimand too fresh in his mind to smack Mikey away - the exact cause of the ice pack.

Mikey, knowing he's safe, smiles wider and tightens his hug.

"Michelangelo."

Mikey freezes, glancing up. Rarely ever does Master Splinter use that tone with him – rarely ever does he have reason.

"Come."

Mikey is frozen in surprise, then follows after sensei slowly, unsure and nervous. He's almost never summoned to sensei's room one on one. He is in trouble, he can tell, but he has no idea why. Sensei says nothing as he settles on top of his mat, Mikey sitting before him with a bow.

There's a brief pause where Master Splinter inhales, gathering his thoughts.

"My son. What does Leonardo do when you hug him?"

Mikey smiles, surprised by the fun question, but it dims a little when sensei's expression stays impassive. "He hugs me back."

"And what does Donatello do?"

"He hugs me back!"

"And Raphael?"

"He fights and yells and hits," Mikey says. Is Raph in trouble? Like, real trouble? Is that why sensei is being so serious? "He doesn't hit very hard though! Mostly he just wants me to stop."

"And do you?"

"No – it's just a hug. Hugs are nice!"

"Your affectionate nature is a blessing in our lives, Michelangelo," Master Splinter says. "And I understand you only crave closeness with your brothers. But you must listen to them as well. Raphael does love you, but he expresses it in other ways. When he tells you to stop, you must listen and respect that. Ignoring his need for personal space causes him great distress."

Mikey's eyes are stinging, he doesn't like sensei's strict gaze, or tone, or the idea that his brother has been hurt. "I didn't want to be mean."

"I know, my son," Splinter says. "But each relationship is unique. You must discover other ways to feel close with Raphael. To continue on the path you are now will only make him feel powerless and trapped. He will come to avoid all contact with you. You must find a way to express yourself so you have the same level of comfort that you have between Leonardo and Donatello. And you must find a different path to get there."

Mikey nods, but he's frowning, sniffling and wiping at his cheeks. He doesn't want to hurt Raph, but if he stopped fighting like Leo and Donnie, that would be so boring. Mikey likes that he fights and yells and gets all stompy and sometimes even teary eyed! Mikey likes that best, he doesn't know why. Sometimes he gets sad when Raphie gets away without crying.

Raph is getting stronger though, and he barely ever cries anymore. Sometimes, when he gets away faster than Mikey would like, Mikey daydreams about hugging him until he cries, more than just whining, but real, true cries. He wants it quite badly and is always happy to get it, but knows better than to say this to sensei.

"Raphael will no longer strike you," Master Splinter says. "But you must respect his boundaries."

"Hai, sensei."

~

A much older Raphael stares forward with a deep frown as he passively allows a much older Michelangelo to hoist his leg up, over Mikey's hip, twisting his arms into position. Mikey shifts his body weight slightly, tilting Raph with him and putting the pressure against Raph's upper back. Zero leverage.

"Very well done, Michelangelo," Master Splinter says. "Can you free yourself, Raphael?"

Raph shifts around, trying to find any give in Mikey's hold. But there's none to find, Mikey's grip is secure.

"You see," Master Splinter says, to Leo and Donnie who look up from trying to work out their own submission hold. "Michelangelo has Raphael off balance. This position means he is unable to brace himself. His joints are locked. With simple pressure on Michelangelo's part, he can maintain this hold as long as he wishes."

"_Fuck this_," Raphael mutters, still struggling miserably. Master Splinter raises an eyebrow.

"Michelangelo. Since your hold is so secure, move to the second pose without losing control of your opponent."

"Wha – _Augh!_" Raphael is flipped, legs caught and immobile, arms trapped. Useless. He's so frustrated by Mikey's effortless skill, effortless domination at ropes and submission holds, he's starting to flush by the fourth try. Even with the instruction to try to hold Mikey off, Raph is still getting pinned with remarkable ease, and his eyes start glazing over as he stares up at Mikey. The surge of arousal is intense and takes Mikey off guard.

He knows, now, that the thing that appealed so much in his childhood daydreams – that they were actually fantasies, his earliest understanding of sexuality. He hasn't thought about it in years, hasn't been in this position over Raph in years.

He beams down at Raph, heady on this feeling, something he missed. It translates into pure joy in his face, and he's unafraid of reveling in it, in teasing Raph for the rest of their practice, holding him down and crowing in victory and Raph can do nothing more but squirm against the dojo floor.

That night, Mikey works himself lazily, spreading out in bed, one hand behind his head and the other on his dick, reexamining some of his childhood 'daydreams.'

He wasn't lying, all those years ago. He didn't want to hurt Raphael and still doesn't. But the thought of slight pain making Raph struggle, give his eyes just a slightly wider, fearful look – it gives his arousal a sharper edge, and he strokes himself quick, closing his eyes and holding his breath. Then his mind flits to the aftermath, Raph's surrender, his sniffling, accepting Mikey's hold. Mikey works himself slower, rocking his hips up to meet it, breathing out. _Yeah._ He imagines nuzzling poor Raphie's hot cheeks, comforting him from himself. Raphael helpless, crying. He can't get up, can't get away, and he knows it, and he cries at the knowledge.

Mikey's not sure what to make of himself, his hand or his spent dick, in the aftermath. He feels a little dirty, but it's from a long, long ways away. A distant echo. The satisfaction is much more immediate, but even that is beginning to fade. He smiles to himself and snuggles down deep in his bed.

He would definitely like Raph there to snuggle, now that his arousal is tamed, but he is sure he'll keep a firm hold on any of the other - the erotic - feelings, knowing them to be inappropriate fantasies and having zero desire to inflict them on Raph simply to get off.

But yes, he wouldn't mind a bit of cuddling.

~

"Do not. Touch."

Donnie's saying it before even making it into the lair.

"What do you mean?" Mikey asks, bouncing to his feet to greet Donnie. "Don't touch what?"

Donnie's wearing gloves that go up to his elbows, a jar in his hands.

"I'm not even going to tell you. You're not going to touch it, that's all you have to – "

"Hey watch it - !"

Clay shattering against the ground.

"Oh! _Jeez!_" Donnie immediately scurries away, covering his mouth and nose with both hands. "Both of you, back off, get away from it!"

Leo, who avoided falling by nearly collapsing on his brothers, is coughing, gasping for breath, the jar shattered on the floor and dust wafting up and around both Mikey and Leo. They clear the area but Mikey's eyes are still watering.

"What's gonna happen?" he asks, utterly unsurprised by this turn of events. He had been fully planning on touching the thing, and was anticipating this level of result.

Donnie isn't entirely sure, but the thing claims to be cursed.

"It's supposed to be some sort of wish fulfillment," Donnie says. "But all the literature says it's more of 'be careful what you wish for' thing rather than a 'Disney's Aladdin' thing."

"Like, powers? We have powers?" Mikey asks.

"For all I know," Donnie says. "For all I know you'll both just get a really bad case of dysentery. Maybe it's actually just an intense hallucinogen."

"Great," Leo says, rubbing at his face. "So the two of us are in quarantine?"

"That'd probably be for the best, yeah."

But apparently there wasn't anything to that jar other than a particularly intriguing story and some history. Two days later without any symptoms, Leo and Mikey are released from Donnie's lab.

And late that night, crawling into his own bed for the first time in two days, is when Mikey hears the voice.

_Remember the time you held him down?_

The mental image is a strange mix of current, adult Raphael and baby Raphie before settling for teenager Raph, one who would've never, ever tolerated such treatment, one that would've screamed his throat raw and bloody. But the memory comes anyway.

"Mikey," Raph had sobbed, his hands strapped the headboard. He's crying like Mikey always wanted, arousal pooling in Mikey's gut at the memory, Raph's helplessness.

But this never happened . . .

_But it __**did.**_

It did. Raph was so scared because of the bug. Mikey let the tiny thing crawl up his own finger, poking at it playfully before dropping it on Raph's front.

"No!" The fight dropped out of Raph in an instant, afraid to kick, to move, trembling as he stared down at the bug. "Get it off, please, please, Mikey, take it off!"

The begging, Raph _begging_, has Mikey's entire mind stuttering, hand shaking with arousal on his cock, panting. How could he have forgotten?

Mikey in the past, in his memories, had his fun and reached to pick the bug up -

_But no, no, Michelangelo. _

Mikey's brow creases as he tries to remember.

Oh yes. He left the bug on there.

"Be good for me, alright Raphie?"

Raph grit his teeth and closed his eyes, bracing himself.

"_Alright_, Raphie?"

Raph nodded.

Oh god, Mikey in the present is panting and hard now. Having Raph tamed, but still shaking with emotion, his eyes wet, dark slits as he stared at Mikey needfully.

_You fucked him._ Yes – Mikey spread his brother's legs apart and forced his way in, and Raph had wailed and cried, not expecting to be heard or listened to, simply unable to help it. Raph came, too, Mikey made sure of that, it felt good, if not for the blinding terror.

Mikey is stroking himself hard and quick, mouth slack as the memory sings through his body, stabbing again and again at his crotch. Yes, yes, fucking Raph, why had it taken him so long to connect the dots? Although obviously it hadn't, he fucked Raph years ago, tied him to his bed and made poor Raphie's mouth go slack as he came, all over his chest.

Mikey comes hard, choking on it and thrusting his hips into his hand eagerly. Wow.

He's panting, completely spent. Stunned. Wow.

Why hasn't he fucked Raph since . . . ?

_But you have . . . _

~


	2. Chapter 2

"Do you need some help?"

"No!"

"O-_kaaayyy_," Leonardo says – Raph _does_ need help.

"Shut up!" Raph says, expression twisting at Leo's mocking tone, hearing what was left unsaid. Leo just hides his smile in his arms and waits.

Leo managed to climb up the wall on his own, so of course Raph has to, too. They don't have to be back to the lair before dinner which is practically forever from now, so there's no hurry. Leo's not sure if Raphael's pride will bend before that, though. Sometimes Raph gets so stubborn that he'll never admit defeat, and maybe he'll just sit down at the bottom of this incline for the rest of his life. Leo imagines having to feed Raph, like a pet, bringing food from the kitchen and tossing it down for him, and he snickers silently, imaging Raph pouting over his shoulder as he eats.

Raph gets to his feet. "I'm gonna do it this time!" he vows.

Leo says nothing and simply watches. Raph backs up, running to gain speed, and jumps, and scrambles for a foothold like a cat. And slides back down the wall on his stomach.

"Shut up!" he yells.

"I didn't say anything."

"Stop looking at me!"

"What else should I look at?"

"_Shut up!_ I hate you!"

Leo just smiles and watches and waits.

Before too long, Raphael is panting, useless, clawing at the wall. Leo knows every time Raph wants to give up or ask for help cause his face will suddenly get all screwed up and he'll yell that he hates Leo, the fight renewed all over again.

Raph doesn't hate Leo and Leo doesn't hate Raph. But sometimes Raph says so for the sake of his pride. Leo is the oldest, and the strongest, so he knows it's his responsibility to take care of all of his brothers, especially Raphael, especially Raphael's delicate pride, so Leo doesn't get too upset by the things Raph says when his pride is threatened.

But taking care of him also means he knows when Raph needs to be stopped.

"It's been three hours," Leo says. He's a little less amused now, rolling onto his back, then to his front, staring down at Raph who is so angry his teeth are bared and his cheeks are flushed. Leo makes a soft noise of sympathy when he sees that Raph's eyes are also starting to water.

"You're the worst, Leonardo!" Raph snarls, kicking at the wall.

"We have to be home soon. Master Splinter will wonder where we are."

Raph lets out a long, enraged howl, and drops down onto his rear.

Leonardo sighs, swings his legs over and slides down the wall, landing softly beside his brother.

Raph raises his gaze slowly.

Deep down, this is Leonardo's secret, why he doesn't mind all Raph's yelling and rage, his insults.

Because he knows there will always be this moment.

Raph will try to put it off as long as he can but – when he's done running, done protesting, and done fighting, when he's reached the end of his rope, there will always be this look in Raph's eyes. When he realizes he needs Leo. The fact itself is enough that Leo doesn't even have to acknowledge it out loud or brag or anything. He just gives Raph the needed boost to scale the rest of the wall, jumping up after.

He'll remember it later, Raph's soft expression, wet eyes, the moment when Raph can't lie to himself, when all his yelling and strutting didn't get him anywhere, when he needs someone – Leo – to lift him to his feet.

~

Leonardo carries three burdens, each weight distinct and unique to the brother it belongs. It's an honor to lift, a burden of privilege, and he wouldn't have it any other way. He loves his brothers, each one in turn and knows he can carry the weight.

Two of his brothers . . . just put up less of a fight about being carried. Donnie and Mikey have no pretense about their needs, about Leo's needs. Caring for them is easy and straightforward. Loving them is easy and straightforward.

Leo winces at the phrasing, but honestly Raph hasn't given him much choice.

Raphael is difficult to love.

It's apparently his life's mission, being as absolutely difficult as possible, challenging Leonardo at every turn, protesting even the most basic bond they have.

But as with most things, the challenge makes it . . . unique. When he does manage to wrangle Raph into cooperating, it's a darkly satisfying feeling, something thick and rich that Leo could get lost in if he allowed himself, where Donnie and Mikey are straight, direct lines.

But he is protective of all three of them, he wants each one healthy and safe equally, honestly. It's not his fault that the only times he's actually allowed to express any concern or care toward Raphael is after he's been too wounded to protest.

Fat drops of blood splatter the floor, from the lair entrance to the bathroom, and of course Leo finds Raph with his foot propped up on the sink counter, awkwardly washing out a wound on his inner thigh.

"I did it to myself," he says, before Leo can even open his mouth. His eyes are half lidded from exhaustion, movements clumsy and his words are slow, dragged out. "Fell on my own goddamn sai."

"Careless," Leo says, crossing his arms. "It's because of your late hours, Raph. You're barely awake now, you're lucky you didn't land on your face and get it in the eye."

"What can I say, you got my number," Raph mutters. His hands aren't even clean, Leo can see the dirt and grime all over his fingers as he attempts to clean his own wound, and he winces.

"You're not even using soap - you're going to give yourself an infection," he says. "You should get in the shower and do a proper job."

Raph glares out the corner of his eye but is too drained to even fight, shifting his weight, hiding any sign of pain as he lifts his injured leg from the sink. He wobbles toward the shower, a mix of exhaustion and injury. Leo follows after slowly, turning off the faucet.

There's a loud stumble when Raph reaches the shower railing, barely catching himself before falling over, and Leo decides that that's enough. He's justified, now.

"Lay down," he says, stepping in behind Raph, who glares darkly but doesn't protest, leaning his head back against the wall and allowing Leo to look over the wound. This is typically Donnie's call, but Leo can see there was no real damage done. It'll need to be bandaged for a week or so, and it'll sting in the meantime, but it's fairly shallow.

Raph sighs deeply, his eyes slipping shut. Leo goes about cleaning the wound, observing Raph's expression carefully. He absolutely should not enjoy this sight. His brother is exhausted, injured from his own carelessness. From _Leonardo's_ carelessness, to let it reach this point.

But.

He is soft and unresisting under Leo's hands.

He even waits patiently for Leo to retrieve the gauze, and when he finishes, he sees that Raph's actually fallen asleep under Leo's touch.

"This is unacceptable," Leo tells his unconscious body, for propriety's sake, because part of him is entirely too happy with the idea of what's happening, evidence of the trust Raph has in Leo, to care for him. "You could've seriously injured yourself. This can't happen again, Raph."

"_Ff nng_," Raph does his best to answer in his sleep, fighting on instinct, even now. Leo's heart twirls a bit at the Raph-ness of that, allowing himself a smile.

"Come on," Leo says. He hoists his brother up, helping him get to bed. Raph is awake enough to walk on his own as soon as they exit the comforting humidity of the shower, the cool air of the lair a sudden shove back to reality.

"This is embarrassing," Raph says, walking stiffly alongside Leo to his room.

"No kidding," Leo says. He stops Raph just before his door, a hand on his shoulder. Then to his chin when Raph refuses to look his way. "Get some sleep. Tonight, and tomorrow night. And the night after that. Understood?"

"Sure. Yeah," Raph mutters, looking away quickly. Uncomfortable with Leo's authority like this: impossible to deny, to fight, every part of him willing to submit to it, maybe even finding it comforting. Leo inhales shortly, enjoying this. Too much. Way too much.

"Good," he says. He has to resist the urge to . . . what? Pull Raph into a hug? No, that's not right at all, it's something else, something he can't completely name, something more primal than a hug. More like a rude, demanding shove of Raph's shoulder, but of course Leo won't do that. Raph shuffles off to his room, and later Leonardo peeks in his door, sees him sleeping. He moves into the room, silent and careful, and adjusts the blanket so it covers Raphael's shoulders. He watches his brother breathe, slow and steady in sleep, following Leo's orders.

And then he goes to bed.

~

After the quarantine Leo is annoyed with himself, restless. Unable to sleep, he settles down in his own room for the first time in two days and decides to find his calm with meditation.

It won't come, not properly, but he finds his energy dropping, his mind and body mellowing as a random memory comes to mind - something that happened years ago, something he has no real reason think about at all.

It had been a boring night of patrol. Raphael, over-confident and bored, had surged forward against a group of what they thought was four Foot soldiers. It had turned out to be a group of thirty, and they had barely escaped with their lives.

It had been one of Raph and Leo's worst fights, probably the first of their real adult fights, escalating beyond the ego-driven squabbling of teenagers. Raph had put them all in serious danger.

Leo had been so mad, completely losing himself to his rage, riding a crest anger, ultimately being swept away by its wake. They'd physically attacked each other, grappling even through the extensive injuries. But Leo hadn't cared.

_Raphael had needed to be punished._

He had – Raphael had been completely out of line! Words obviously weren't cutting it. Leo frowns at the memory, hands tightening to fists.

_That's when you pulled him over your lap._

Leo had been beyond himself with anger, in rare form – even their wrestling match hadn't been enough, once they got back to the lair he'd summoned Raphael to his room. He'd pulled Raphael over his lap. Raphael had been too surprised to fight -

_No, he wasn't surprised._

No – that's right. He was used to that kind of treatment by then.

_He knew you wouldn't tolerate that kind of behavior._

Of course Leo wouldn't. It was dangerous for Mikey, for Donnie, even for Leonardo and obviously, especially, dangerous for Raph.

He needed to be taken in hand.

_Smack!_

The position itself did something to Raphael's composure, it always did. Being forced over Leo's lap, such an incredibly submissive, helpless pose. _Smack! Smack!_

"Ah!" Raph whined sharply, surprising both of them. _Smack!_ Raph let out another noise, louder this time.

_That's when you stuck in your toy . . . _

"Suck on it, Raph," Leonardo had ordered in a curt tone, the clipped edges hiding his own arousal. "Because after you're done with the spanking, this is going up there, and this is all the lube you're getting."

Raphael had whined, eyes arching pathetically, but he knew better than to protest. He opened his mouth for the silicone toy, sucking obediently. It was one on the smaller side, a size Leo could probably get in his brother even dry if he did it slow enough. Raph sucked away, his moans muffled by the dildo as Leo's spanks grew a little rougher, harder. Leo immediately forced himself to ease up, realizing the growing intensity of his hits to be a symptom of his arousal. No, this couldn't be uncontrolled. This was about Raph, this was a punishment. Not pleasure.

_But you enjoyed it, so, so much. It could be both . . . _

No, it couldn't. Leo had other ways of seeking satisfaction. He would not, not ever –

_Oh, but Raph __**liked**_ _it . . . _

Raph . . . Raph was squirming on Leo's lap, moaning in what could be pain, face painted in distress. He was so conflicted, his body enjoying the treatment, his mind, his ego, thoroughly humiliated.

_His ego is what got him into this mess. His ego was what needed to be punished._

Yes. And it was his ego that continued to be punished when Leonardo decided he'd had enough of the spanking, he pulled the toy from Raphael's mouth, sliding it in at the other end slowly, slowly.

"Leo," Raph had whined out, shifting his hips, trying to find the best position to take this intrusion, gasping and jerking all over when Leo brushed against that spot. Leo left the toy there, rubbing the back of Raph's neck in soothing motions, letting him get used to the size and feel.

Once Raph's body was shaking with pleasure, his mind shaking with shame, Leo began fucking him in earnest with the device, twisting it, churning his brother's insides, experimenting, seeing how he would react, which reaction he liked best. It didn't take long to realize that Raph wanted it fast and hard, the pace a real partner would set, and Leo did his best to mimic it, jamming it in over and over and watching Raph come to pieces on his lap.

_He had needed it so badly. You're the only one who could give it to him._

Leo huffs with pride, with that knowledge. He blinks in surprise, coming back to himself after reliving the vivid memory, finding his hand on his crotch, working himself slowly.

He's harder that he can ever remember being, actually aching with fullness, heavy and hot in his hand. He decides he's gone far enough now, it'll be faster and easier to just see it through to the end. Working himself tighter, faster, he thinks about how satisfied and pliant Raph had been in the aftermath. So much calmer, so content it practically radiated off him in waves. That's exactly what he needs, Leo taking him in hand, it was so strange that Leo could've possibly forgotten.


	3. Chapter 3

Raph doesn't have Donnie's nimble fingers, and the moving parts of his brother's tech always seems too delicate in his calloused hands, like if he touches them too much they'll just crumble away. Raph scowls. It's not often that he feels clumsy, and rewiring the generators is enough to make him feel like a troll.

The generators are on the highest tiers, about six stories above the sewer below, least likely to be messed around with by any humans. The pipes they're mounted on are pretty narrow, seeming to grow narrower every yearr Raph and Mikey usually do the upkeep for them now, and that means usually Raph, as Mikey doesn't have the patience.

So he knows who it is climbing up into the pipe without having to look up.

"What do you want?" he asks, laying out the wires carefully.

"Nothing," Mikey says, voice singsong. Which means he's bored and he wants to play.

"I'm working here, bro," he says. He wants to get this over and done with, the space is cramped and now Mikey's blocking the only exit.

Mikey doesn't say anything, shifting closer to Raph's side. "Oh. Ew," Mikey says, frowning down at the gutted generator like some might look at a bug. "That's totally boring, dude. Doing nothing with me would be way better."

Raph shoves Mikey away again, but he's not totally annoyed. The wires in front of him are stressing him out. How long has it been since he and Mikey raced back to the lair? At times Mikey's relentless energy can be a pain, but at other times it can be a welcome distraction, something that lifts a guy up the longer he lets himself go along with it. Glancing behind him at Mikey's expectant, eager grin, Raph thinks today could be one of those days.

"I gotta finish this first."

"Then we can play?"

"Whatever," Raph says. Back to the wiring. "What's in the bag?"

"I'll show you when you're good and ready," Mikey says, fingering the strap over his shoulder.

"I swear to god if it's a bullhorn or a pie – "

"It's not a bullhorn or a pie."

"Or a fucking bug, or silly string."

"Nope and nope. You're gonna have to be more creative than that," Mikey says, playfully teasing. He must be eager to show him though, because he's on Raph the second he clips the hard plastic casing back over the generator.

"Whoa – back off, Mikey."

"I just want to touch you, Raphie. I just want to show you l_ooove,_" Mikey says, both hands on Raphael's upper thighs and moving higher, rubbing against the sensitive crease, the tendons, following the line down to his inner thighs, to his crotch, in a ridiculously intimate touch.

"Wha – are you _drunk_?" Raphael is completely bowled over, shuddering at the foreign touch. He shoves hard with his shoulder but Mikey is barely moved. "Knock it off!"

When had Mikey's hands gotten so big? Raphael tries to shrug off the animal-like instinct in his head warning him of danger. Mikey is Mikey. They worst he'd ever do is paint balloons. And he's always been big into physical contact. This is weird, but it's Mikey-normal, Mikey looking for a reaction.

"I'm getting annoyed, Mike," he growls.

"Are you gonna cry?" Mikey says, and the eager tone of his voice would be unsettling even if the taunt wasn't just . . . just a beat off.

"What? No," Raph says. "What the hell kind of question is that?"

He could shove away from Mikey's touch, but there's not much room ahead of him, not nearly enough to clear Mikey's reach, and he can tell by Mikey's stance behind him that it'd take a pretty mighty push to dislodge him. They're high up. The amount of force could easily send Mikey tumbling. He grits his teeth, feeling himself redden. Had Mikey _planned_ this?

"Back. Off," he bites out. He clamps his hands down on Mikey's wrists, Mikey twists free of his crushing grip but backs off slightly.

"I'm gonna make Raphie cry," Mikey says. "He always cries the best."

"In your dreams," Raphael snarls, confusion turning to fear at Mikey's bizarre behavior, and Raph's never dealt with fear well. "Mikey, if you don't stop - "

But doesn't stop, and Raph chokes on the very threat, Mikey's fingers suddenly back, rubbing delicately against the front of Raphael's crotch, a curious, probing touch.

"S-_stop_!" He feels himself panting, beginning to panic. He decides to drop his weight, try to roll away, but when he makes his move Mikey just laughs, supporting Raphael's weight with his hands, shoving his thigh between his legs to help. Twist, Mikey's leg slides under his own thigh and wraps around. One arm under Raph's, the other forcing his other arm up and away.

Fuck. Fuck. Submission hold seven.

Raphael is immediately fighting again, wriggling. It's a humiliating little display, Raphael is off balance and Mikey is strong enough to weather the attack. His brother's skill at holds has the advantage here and he feels himself reddening deeper. Suddenly it feels like this entire set up is just to highlight that fact; a malicious barb on Mikey's part.

Is he mad? Is he getting back at Raph for some long forgotten prank?

"Listen. Michelangelo," Raphael says, trying to sound as diplomatic as possible with gritted teeth. Mikey's hands are already back on him, wriggling down, down to his crotch. "_Mikey_! If I made you mad – we can talk about it, alright? You don't have to do this, stop – _stop_! Mikey! Damn it! Are you listening to me?"

"Yep," Mikey says, Raphael can't bring himself to turn and see Mikey's face, but he can hear the smile in his voice. "Keep going, Raphie. You might convince me."

"What the fuck is in your head?" Raphael says, now chilled to the bone. He doesn't understand; he could explode free, he could go crazy, and he can see playing out in his head, sees Mikey going launching backward, then out of sight, dropping and dropping the seven stories. He swallows, knows its not an option, but his arms still tense, quivering in anticipation of action.

He needs words, there has to be some right thing to say that would cut through Mikey's insanity, but he's not Leo and he's definitely not Donnie.

"If you don't back off, I'm gonna send you flying, Mikey!"

Mikey's weight drops forward, pressing him against the wall, "_Oof_ - "

Raph snarls, pinned by Mikey's body weight, freeing Mikey's hand to unzip his bag – he's wrapping leather around Raph's wrists. He was planning this.

He was planning this. The realization strikes Raph to the core, the thought cycling in his mind uselessly. He packed that bag with leather straps to tie Raph up. _He was planning this._

"You're not Mikey," he says. Mikey doesn't even reply, laughing. Raph's knows it's not true, he can sense this is Mikey, knows Mikey's energy, his self, the thing that's impossible to fake, especially this close. Raph is losing his composure quickly, and he kicks out without thinking about the damage it could cause. Mikey dodges it regardless, and Raph finds himself strapped to the metal grating, arms above his head.

He doesn't think Mikey's going to hurt him, not in any bloody, dramatic way, but he feels fear. This is going to break something, something very real and way more important than the physical. And he can't stop it. He tugs at the restraints, and Mikey obviously isn't playing around, they're tight and cruel, biting into his skin.

"Mikey," he says, staring forward at the grimy wall blankly.

"Raphie," Mikey says in return, nuzzling his neck, petting his free head across Raphael's middle, to his chest, back down again.

He feels a stab of nausea when Mikey fingers begin playing with his crotch. He's gentle but insistent, rubbing his two fingers across, then his thumb, then wetting them in his mouth and going back to do it again, handling Raph's body like someone who's done it countless times before. Raph didn't even know that kind of treatment would feel – like this.

Raph exhales once in a hot, deep pant.

"There we go," Mikey says, cradling Raph's semi-hardness in an almost loving touch. Raph stares down at the surreal picture: his cock, in Mikey's hands. He tugs at his arms on reflex at the sight, snarling when reminded of his helplessness.

"Shh, it's okay, bro," Mikey says. "I got this."

"Stop it," Raph says, and this time he means specifically Mikey's tone, and his words, so playful and normal, like he isn't ripping Raphael's soul to shreds.

"Raphie's gonna cry," Mikey says, working his hand up and down. He's applying more pressure than Raph usually does, and it makes his mouth drop open, his hips cant up, following the touch. Then he realizes what he's doing and Mikey might be right.

"No," Raphael says.

Mikey's other hand wraps around, diving behind Raph's cock.

"Fuh – fuck, no – " but Mikey stops before fingering his entrance. It's right between, and he presses up against a spot that's . . . _aah_ . . . Raph bites hard on his lip, but Mikey is merciless, pressing up and up against that strange little spot, and Raph's are moving openly now, between his hands.

"I don't – " Raphael says, shaking his head. "Mikey – "

Mikey's answer is to pull something else from the bag, a bottle, one he uncaps, spreading it between his fingers with a charming little grin.

Raph eyes go wide and unfocused as Mikey's fingers slide around his entrance, spreading around the slick liquid sloppily, Raph squirms, then sensation wholly bizarre, then Mikey's thumb slides up inside and he cries out.

He closes his stinging eyes. "Knock – knock it off!"

Mikey keeps touching him. Touching _inside_ him. "Ah – " Raphael doesn't understand what's happening to his body, or how Mikey knew what to expect – how he knew Raph's hips would start those needy little twitches. God.

"Mikey," Raphael cries, dropping his head forward. "Stop."

"Hmm," Mikey says, like he's actually considering, but he's still rubbing away, stretching, like he's trying to open Raph _up_. "Maybe if you beg."

"What?" Raph says, every single thing Mikey has said has left his mind reeling, he's drifting helplessly, the only solid thing right now being Mikey's fucking hands on him. He shudders at the feel and the immediate shame has his eyes clouding. "Please, Mikey, _please_."

"It's amazing how you fall for that like every time, dude."

"Fuck – fuck you, Mikey," Raph bites out, but his voice is shaking wildly, it has no heat. Raph's bottom lip is trembling, and it's such a maddeningly childish reaction he almost sobs out loud in frustration, in anger. "Every time? What?"

"Every time we do this," Mikey says.

"We never – you never – " Raph's eyes blank out. They have.

He knows Mikey's hands. He goes limp, remembering the countless – countless times. Mikey has done this to him. Over and over again, he lets out a shaky little breath of air, processing that, but his adrenalin suddenly drops. His body knows what to do, how to stretch for Mikey's fingers, and then Mikey's own cock.

"You're so quiet," Mikey says, actually sounding worried.

"I," Raph stutters. Tears are falling down his face, and Mikey moans in sympathy, practically cooing.

"Oh Raph," he says, wrapping his arms around his middle. Fucking him. Like he has countless times before.


	4. Chapter 4

"See ya, Raphie," Mikey gives him a quick wet peck on the cheek and they walk into the lair. Raph snarls and wipes it away with his shoulder. He doesn't bother to to chase after his youngest brother, just shuffling to the kitchen grabbing a beer and dropping at the table. He drinks it slowly, only half finished about a half hour later.

"Hey, Leo," Raph says blandly.

Leo looks torn between amusement and disbelief. "So you finished the maintenance?"

" . . Yeah?"

"And then you came back here," Leo says.

"Yeah."

"And was there something else you were supposed to – "

"Ah, jeez! Leo. I forgot," Raph says, standing as soon as he remembers. Leo was going to be warming up in the dojo until Raph came back to join him.

"Obviously," Leo says, but he's smirking, not truly upset. "You good to go now?"

"Uh," Raph says, rubs at the back of his neck. He's feeling a little shitty after his tango with Mikey but after leaving Leo waiting . . .

"You drank too much?" Leo asks.

"No. I donno, I'm just beat right now."

Leo's expression does something a little weird, like he's not all that impressed with Raph, but he's glad about it anyway? "Alright, we'll spar later. But we still need to settle this now. Follow me."

Raph frowns, pushes the half finished beer to the middle of the table and walks behind Leo, to his bedroom.

"What are we settling, exactly?"

"Hm, I'm not sure what I would classify this," Leo says, thoughtfully. He sits down on the edge of his futon. "Poor time management? Prioritizing? A lack of respect for your older brother's time?"

"Jeez," Raph says. He's used to Leo riding him, but there's something deeply eerie about this way of doing it, like he's actually happy about it. Raph wants to back away, run down the hall, but no, Mike might be out there – fuck. Raph feels trapped in a deep, soul crushing, powerless way. He suddenly wants to punch everything in sight, shake it, beat it, but the knowledge that would do nothing to stop it just makes powerless feeling worse. "What do you want, Leo?" he asks, genuinely afraid of the answer.

"You know what to do," Leo says, patting at his knee.

Raph . . . Raph knows what to do. Feeling lightheaded, he heads for Leo's lap, bending willingly over Leo's knees, for his punishment, for his lack of respect. Of course. He knew this was coming, and part of him like the reliability, the comfort and security of Leo's touch after Mikey's gleeful madness. Raph was bad, he was inconsiderate, and Leo will amend that.

But Leo's hand doesn't come down in a swat.

His fingers go to Raph's entrance, brushing against the irritated skin there in confusion, probing carefully.

"What – has someone else . . . ?"

But the answer is blatant, dripping down Leo's fingers. Mikey's come.

"Yeah. Just Mikey," Raph says, squirming a little.

"_That's_ why you were late?" Leo sounds beside himself.

"Not like I had any choice about it!" Raph snarls, and Leo's eyes drift for a moment, unfocused, as if learning for the first time about Mikey and Raph's arrangement. But Leo's always known about it, and he's never been happy about it, he hates how rushed Mikey is in stretching Raph, how clavier he is about the entire thing, sometimes making Raph come two or three times at once, other times teasing Raph right to the edge and then losing interest, sending him out into the lair to solve it himself. Leo hates it. Raph doesn't have a say either way. He stares forward, laid across Leo's lap, blank and numb.

Leo huffs in frustration. "Go clean yourself out. We'll do this later."

"Whatever," Raph says, forcing himself up, burning with humiliation he doesn't fully understand, feeling like he's aged a hundred years since this morning.

He stops by the bathroom, doing as Leo asked. He finds himself back in the kitchen, considering the half finished beer blankly.

"Hey Don."

"Hey Raph," Donatello says absentmindedly, shuffling by. He's in the middle of one of his projects, obvious from the way he tunnels in on the coffee pot. But then he stops and takes a second look. " . . . Raphael?"

Raph looks up. He's not entirely sure what shows on his face but whatever it is makes Donnie nearly drop his cup.

"What _happened_? What's wrong?"

"What are you talking about?" Raph says. "I just had a hard day."

"Hard day," Donnie repeats. "Raph . . . you look like someone just died."

Raph frowns in confusion. He feels . . .

Like he's always felt. Normal.

"Jesus, Raph. What's wrong?" Donnie abandons his cup, bending down close to look Raph in the eye.

"Nothing's wrong," Raph says. It's true, but still, something tries to escape his chest, a shaking little bit of breath, but Raph catches it in his throat easily, suppressing it, swallowing hard.

"Alright, how about we go to my lab, and you tell me about your day?" Donnie says, his smile obviously forced.

Raph rolls his eyes. "Real slick, Don." But maybe part of him wants to be tricked, cause he follows Donnie to his lab.

~

"Mikey _attacked_ you?"

"Pfft," Raph rolls his eyes. "No. He was just being Mikey. Annoying as hell."

But even as he says it, his hand is twitching frantically with one of Donnie's beaker, spinning it at a quick, jerky pace between his fingers, anything but nonchalant.

"I mean, you've seen it," Raph says.

_Seen it?_

A dark, murky memory is rising in his mind: A much younger Raph, leaving Mikey's room in enraged tears, storming past Donnie. A familiar sight, something they'd all grown accustomed to in the lair, and he's seen countless times . . . before . . . Donnie's brothers have been caught up in this infatuated, abusive circle for years, and at times it's made Donnie want to cry, and at times it's made him shake with envy, with the isolation, left out of their lives –

Donnie blinks hard, swaying under the weight of the memory, the raw emotion that comes along with it.

_No. _

No, that's not right.

Movie night. Movie night was two weeks ago. Raph and Mikey had fought and wrestled and laughed, no tension and no strange energy, no heartbreaking expressions. Leo had rolled his eyes and exchanged a glance with Donnie before turning up the television. _That_ is reality, and Donnie clings hard to those facts, using it to stand head and shoulders above the strange, murky memories threatening to pull him under.

"It's just the way it is," Raph is shrugging. But Donnie knows this reality too. A strange combination of envy and protectiveness that he's become used to, wanting to hide Raph away, and wanting to shake him for how he's stolen Donnie's brothers away.

"Okay," Don says, slowly, formulating his plan even as he speaks. "I think you should sleep in my lab tonight. Just to be safe."

Raph stands immediately, backing away. "I'm good. I just. Want my own bed. I want to sleep in my own bed."

For a second Donnie's hurt that Raph doesn't trust him, that he sees this as yet another attack, but then – well, it would only make sense. Donnie's his brother, and he loves him, but that didn't stop his other brothers, who love him. He watches Raph walk off to his own room for the night, watches the door close and imagines he can hear the door locking. Hoping.

Donnie sighs and closes his own door. The project he had been working on is time sensitive, and he walks past the specimens that are going to rot and shrivel away in their petri dishes, neglected.

This obviously takes precedence

The jar that Leo broke is still under lock and key in Donnie's storage containers. Donnie shoves aside the other boxes, and unseals the remaining shards, the dust still pooled in the bag. The stuff that sprayed Leo and Mikey. He holds the bag in front of his face for a moment, considering the dust. Then he grabs a handful, and sort of awkwardly throws it into his own face. It's light, airy like flour, and he immediately starts coughing wildly, stumbling back from the artifact as soon as he seals it again.

Okay now . . . now just to wait. Donnie settles down in the small resting area of his lab, the one with a rug, and shifts into lotus position. He's deep in a meditative state by the time Leo opens Raph's door.


	5. Chapter 5

"Where's this go?"

"It's not on my map," Donnie says, and Raph frowns up at the boarded up tunnel, giving one of the planks of wood a testing push.

Last year, during a midnight excursion to the junk yard, they found a whole industrial sized roll of paraffin paper. The first few layers of the roll were scorched from fire, but most of it was untouched, although it had been too heavy for any of them to carry themselves, the shape fat and slippery and awkward to handle. Eventually Master Splinter made one of his rare trips up, waiting until nightfall to cross the six harrowing blocks to the nearest grate, hoisting the water resistant, and therefore especially precious, paper to their home.

It's thin and perfect for drawings, and blueprints and maps, and Donnie carefully slices each new section off, using scissors, never tearing because he doesn't even want to waste a quarter inch. He's drawn out the blue prints he found of the sewer system, from a library book dated in the fifties, and he and Raph have made it their mission to fill out the details, correct any changes. Today they're walking through one of the smellier, grosser sections of the sewer, parts they've mostly avoided because it's especially rotten and damp and moist. It probably connects to some company's drainage system, or maybe even a whole sewage plant.

"I bet it goes to the river," Raph says, though Donnie's not sure why. The tiny stream of water trickling down, under the boards, is gross and sticky and discolored. Definitely not fresh water.

"I don't think so," Donnie says. "There'd be more water. Hold on, I wanna mark where we found it."

"Hurry up, I wanna see where it goes."

"It's probably boarded up for a reason," Donnie says, rolling up his map slowly. He already knows he's not going to be able to talk Raph out of it and he's nervous about whatever they'll find on the other side. This is why Raph and Donnie make such a good team for this particular task; Raph's eagerness to plunge into the unknown and Donnie's careful documentation of what they find is very useful, and they both enjoy it, and – it's really nice to have a thing he can share with Raphael.

"That's the whole point of being explorers Donnie!" Raph says impatiently, pushing a little harder against the wood, testing the strength. Donnie smiles – before, Raph wandered the sewers aimlessly, and along the way forming a mental, and therefore flawed, map of their surroundings. Donnie is the one who gave him a name and a task for the idea; exploring, like Lewis and Clark, and Raph had taken to the idea with gusto, which had made Donnie feel particularly . . . _cool_ is the only word he can think of.

"We should tell Master Splinter about it."

"He's just gonna say we shouldn't do it!" Raph says. "What if it goes to the surface? What if it leads right up into a bathroom? A lady's bathroom, ha!"

"I read about a sewer tunnel that was built under a bank vault once," Donnie says. "So maybe they boarded it up cause it goes somewhere really important."

It was actually in a mystery book, so it was fake, but Raph's eyes go wide anyway. Donnie smiles as he stares down at his rolled up map map. He likes playing with Leo and Mikey but it always makes Donnie a little extra happy when he manages to make Raph smile or laugh at his joke, or like now, impress him.

Having sufficiently worked each other up, they come silent agreement, searching for the weakest spot, and Raph kicks his way through once they find it.

"It's so dark," Donnie says as they move carefully down the tunnel, their eyes adjusting slowly. No street grates or drains, and the tiny hole behind them doesn't help much at all. "I hope there aren't any spiders or anything."

Raph freezes at his side and Donnie winces. He hadn't been thinking. "Here, I'm getting my flashlight."

They're supposed to save batteries for emergencies and Donnie makes the executive decision that this qualifies. They walk in silence for about fifty feet before reaching a ladder.

"We should wait until it's dark to look," Donnie says as they stare at the tiny cracks of daylight peeking through the manhole cover. But he doesn't want to wait, he wants to look now, and is happy when Raph scoffs and begins climbing the ladder.

"I'll be quick," he says.

"_Raph_," Donnie protests for the sake of it, then dithers, then puts his flashlight away and begins climbing the ladder after him.

Raph steps to the side, making room for Donnie beside him. They listen, and wait, and when there's no sound of traffic or voices, silently agree to lift the cover.

" . . . Is that the mattress factory?"

"I think so – Raph! This is the east side!"

"Yeah?" Raph says, willing to accept that this is good news but obviously not sure why.

"Yeah! Come on!" Donnie slides down the ladder and takes off down the tunnel without waiting, mentally cataloging the streets above as he goes. Yes, there's another ladder! Donnie laughs with joy and begins climbing quickly.

"Ugh, it smells," Raph complains, waiting at the bottom this time. "What are you so happy about?"

"Raph, it's the junk yard! It's right here!"

"Really?" Raph immediately scrambles up the ladder.

"Yeah, look, it's right in the middle," Donnie says, and the tacky, grimy surface of the ladder is evidence, the run off of the trash compactors. "Past the gates and everything!"

"Donne this is awesome," Raph says, shaking Donnie's shoulders as he says it. "This is a real discovery!"

Donnie is can't stop smiling, marking it down on the map as soon as they make it to the main tunnel.

"We can get anything we want now!" Raph says, eyes shining with plans. Half of the useful stuff they find in the junk yard is simply too big and too noticeable for anyone to carry down several blocks, regardless of ninja skills, and they're forced to leave potential treasures behind regularly. "Leo and Mikey are gonna be pumped! Oh, man! This is awesome! We're a good team, Donnie!"

Donnie laughs and listens to Raph's triumphant babbling as they immediately return to homebase to share this discovery, still riding the high of their accomplishment, and Raph's grin, as they make it back to the lair, arms slung over each other's shoulders.

~

"Spending a lot of time with Don lately."

"Huh? Yeah, I guess so," Raph had said, on his way to the garage. And Donnie was able to tell this is actually the first time the thought even occurred to his brother. When the two of them actually have a project, they work quite well together. Raphael as the motor, Donatello as the rudder. They fill one another's weaknesses seamlessly, fluid and easily and without much need for discussion. No friction, no prideful boasting.

But where Donnie plans and coordinates his day and his time carefully, Raph simply appears, and does what he likes, or is cajoled into doing what he dislikes, and then it's off into his next activity with little thought beforehand or what he's left behind.

Of course, all of Donatello's brothers have something to them, a positive and negative:

Mikey's thoughtless tongue – sometimes impossibly sweet, sometimes profoundly observant, sometimes cruel, sharp and biting.

Leonardo's single-mindedness, sometimes a cotton mask over his head, blinding and deafening him from a world that might force him to change his perspective. Sometimes pushing him to greater levels of achievement than Donnie could ever attain, from sheer force of will.

Raphael is a creature of the _now_, and this is also a good and a bad. He has a severe lack of forethought, but then, he rarely ever holds grudges against his brothers. Disagreements are almost always about the immediate or the very recent.

More pointedly, Raphael generally is not thinking about time he could be spending with Leonardo or Michelangelo when he's with Donatello. Donnie knows he holds his full attention when they're in the garage, and as he's gotten older, he's learned to appreciate the uniqueness of that – rather than dwell on the fact that Raph almost certainly does not think about Donatello when he's with Casey, or Splinter, or his other brothers. Donatello supposes it comes from a level of inherent trust, that Donatello will be there – that whatever he last set aside will still be waiting for him when it crosses his mind to pick it up again.

It can be so exhilarating to follow his lead, to march to that beat, to get swept away in that passion of giving 100%, every time, saving nothing for the swim back.

But even so, Raph's goals are rarely ever grandiose. They're usually something directly obtainable, but he can also become hopeless and depressed, lacking vision of what's beyond his immediate circumstances.

Raph is the embodiment of living in the moment, the good and the bad, when it's good he can still relish it regardless of what might be coming up the road, and when it's bad, nothing – _nothing_ can fix it.

Nothing but time.

Donatello breathes deeply. Waiting. Refusing to let his mind drift far.

He keeps his focus on the mundane. No deep desires for any cursed dust to unearth here. He thinks about Mikey's stomach turning habit of picking his toes while watching television. Leo carefully sterilizing his sword with a flame after a particularly brutal battle. Random, unremarkable moments in their sewer home. Raph restocking the kitchen with groceries Casey dropped off. Mikey whining as he's finally out of excuses to clean the dojo for once.

The dojo. Practicing in the dojo. There is one respect that Donnie exceeds all his brothers in the dojo; it is truly an egoless practice for him. He's proud of his skills, but feels no inadequacy, no failure, when he's forced to fall back and rest and let his brothers continue to higher, more complex levels of martial arts.

And yet. He does feel the three of them have formed a bond, there, against the carpets and mats, a degree of camaraderie that Donnie can't quite reach, too busy pouring that kind of emotion into his own work, too private and advanced for any of his brothers to truly engage him.

Donnie's not jealous.

Not of that and not of . . . whatever it is has happened between his brothers once under the influence of the powder.

He honestly isn't sure of his feelings. Obviously his brothers have found something of worth in each other – he's sure it was a healthier thing before this curse hit them – and he's happy for them.

He's just . . . confused.

How it all could've happened directly in front of his face, and he never noticed. How they could've kept it from him . . .

Obviously they wanted to keep it a secret, and this is something Donnie understands. He snickers a little at himself, finally coming to the irrational root of his conflict. Why did they have to keep it a secret from _him?_ That is what makes him feel alone, more than anything. But obviously if they were going to keep it a secret, there were only two people to really keep it from, Donatello and their sensei. But feelings don't have to make sense. Even while identifying it, Donnie still feels a bit of a nasty rub against his core, of not being welcomed, not being trusted.

_But it wasn't always this way_, especially not for Mikey. Mikey trusted Donnie to hang the moon and the stars in the sky. He could be a cheeky little guy, but he clearly believed with every beat of his little turtle heart that Donnie would always have the answers to his problems. Although – although a younger Mikey was mostly hoping to impress Don, coming to him with factoids and pieces of trivia, and Don was at times so charmed by Mikey's excitement that he would either pretend not to have known, or, regretfully, pretended that the misinformation was actually true just to keep the proud smile on his little brother's face.

_But he does love you_, of course, Donnie's never doubted that, all his brothers do love him, regardless of the individual ways they show it. Mikey just has the easiest, most obvious way of going about it.

_Or he used to, before you helped Leonardo and Raphael . . . _Donnie's mouth goes slack. He is surrounded with love, intense and sincere, it feels so, so genuine. All egos shed, masks and insecurities set aside. He can feel Leo's open admiration, his focus all directed shamelessly, almost worshipfully, toward Don. He can feel Raph's reluctance, his fear to express himself so openly, yet he does it, for Donnie, desperate for Donnie to know that he does care. Mikey's squirming eagerness to impress, almost childlike if not for the very, unmistakably adult _passion_ behind it.

_And you know to reward them for it,_ because Don isn't cruel or strict about his attentions, loving his brothers in return. Sometimes jealousy but Donnie deals with that as it arises, Leo shuddering with pleasure as he carefully licks Don's hardness, thorough in all things and especially this, making sure Donnie is as hard as he can possibly be before swallowing him down. And of course Mikey is jealous, whimpering at Donnie's shoulder, asking for kisses, which Donnie gives, kissing him deeply, his free hand petting down Raph's stomach, to his needy swell, not quite dropped, just waiting for the excuse of Donnie's fingers before giving in with a delicious sigh –

_**No**_, because that's _never happened_. Don's loosely curled hands turn to fists and he scrambles wildly away from the images, what feels so real, like actual _memories_ of their lair turned harem. Donnie's harem. He is hard, and he does not squirm, he ignores the pleasure throbbing at his crotch. This very idea – the very idea of them surrendering like that, so passively! It's laughable.

_They would never be able to share like that,_ they're so greedy with Donnie already. It's exhausting. All of his brothers are extremely passionate, enthusiastic lovers, and their competition has extended here, as well, to the battlefield of Donnie's flesh. Worshipful in a way, but so . . . possessive, so all encompassing. Donnie's breath goes a little quicker just imagining the hands that wait for him outside the lab.

_They love to touch – can't get enough of you_, constant fondling and pinching and squirming and it feels so – so good Donnie can't help but moan and accept the treatmen –

_**NO**_, he can help quite a bit more than that, he'd be shocked and flabbergasted if Leo got it in his head to swat Don's rear.

Their home is one of carefully compartmentalized affections, given as much as the brother in question can allow, all insecure in their own ways, all confident in others. Nothing – nothing so crude. Nothing as dark and hurtful as Mikey chaining Raph to his bed, or demented and controlling as Leo beating Raph's rear. Nothing so explicit or – or abusive.

Donatello is firm with these thoughts, circling them in his head again and again, heckles raised, ready and waiting for the voice to come again. He realizes he's actually sweating, teeth grit as he prepares to ward off that voice so like his own, that tempting guide down dark, previously unknown desires.

Just because his family doesn't express themselves in that way doesn't make them lesser. He prefers his brother's genuine shows of affection.

_Nothing fake_, nothing tainted, nothing unnatural.

_Real_. Easily seen, to Donnie's eye. _Or anyone's . . . _

~

Splinter arrives home from his stay at the Jones's quite late evening, and is unsurprised to find the television on, although the dim lights and otherwise quiet in the lair is somewhat jarring. His first thought is that Michelangelo is the only one awake, his brothers retiring early for the evening, but when he approaches the well worn coach and sees his four sons, adults in all practical respects, crammed onto the seat that was certainly made for three at most.

"Are you cold, my sons?" Splinter asks, after a moment of confused observation. They look quite comfortable, limbs pressed cozily but not uncomfortably together, heads on shoulders, and they watch Splinter in what could only be described as sleepy confusion.

"Not at all, sensei." Leo says.

"There are other chairs open to you," Splinter says.

"We always sit here," Mikey says with a laugh, snuggling down deeper against his brother's chest.

"Ah – yes," Splinter says, shaking his head. It was a very common sight among his sons, and quite a lucky thing, too, considering how cold the sewers were apt to become in the colder months. "How could I have forgotten?"


End file.
